Consuming
by deanowinchesterr
Summary: "Easy Winchester remedy to fix everything; Alcohol. Except that doesn't do anything, it just makes it worse. Sam's had enough of Dean's bad habit." Set season 9 so possible spoilers.


Black. Grey. White. Wincing, Dean glanced around his room and found himself in that cage that other people called "home". The silence that he had long grown accustomed to was broken by voices coming from outside his room. They soon multiplied as rays of light shone through his door, onto his eyes and his yawning face. He stood up, and stumbled to the living room, cringing as his head clouded with different shades of white that all looked the same anyway. He sat at the table and watched the news from his laptop, showing cars that all went past in a blur. Usually, when his brother sat down next to him he didn't pay attention. But this time he did. And he remembered the day they first moved into the bunker together and how for the first few days - or weeks, not like he could remember anymore - they'd both avoided each other. That was before him and his brother had stopped talking, it had been like that for as long as Dean could remember.

* * *

To Dean it smelled like home, but they were on some bridge in Colorado and he couldn't help but fantasize about being back in the bunker tomorrow. "Home".

Sam thought travelling again would help Dean. They stood at a railing and looked down at all the cars and the lights; that Dean only identified as fireflies on drugs. Confused, little Dean, if only he had known he was the only drugged up participant of this scene. The lights, the noise and the city all left Sam breathless and light, while it left Dean with a throbbing headache and the taste of stomach acids. All the sounds reminded Dean of the sea and he tried to remember the last time he had seen the ocean.

Sam exhaled, _"So, what do you think of it?"_

Sam gestured around him, his arms spreading out and to Dean it was like he was spreading his non-existent _wings_. All Dean replied with was a blank stare, it seemed the norm lately. So Sam offered him a cigarette, pulling a packet from his pocket and holding it out to Dean. Accepting it, he found it was a little odd for his brother to be carrying them - he didn't even ask why.

The smoke wafted in the air and was heavy in Dean's lungs, but was also like fresh air. Sam coughed but remained unaffected by the stinging smoke that would normally make his eyes water, and instead he took in the cars, the warmth of the city, the night's sky with all it's stars; the atmosphere - it was basically everything Dean _couldn't_ see.

And as the stub fell down to the speeding cars, Dean asked, voice husky,

_"Why is the sea so loud?"_

_"This is the middle of the city, Dean."_ It was as if Dean's words were swords, stabbing him in the throat, Sam grimaced at the thought.

_"You can't hear the waves crashing down? Can't you see it?"_ Dean gestured to the lights and the cars that were going so fast he felt nauseous from just looking at them.

Then they heard the noise of metal brushing metal and car horns, and soon there was fire and the squeaky noise of scraping metal. It gave Dean a noisy, white flash of headache and he almost started gagging. It couldn't stop soon enough. Sam was ready to scream, to shake him. It wasn't even surprising that Dean couldn't stop laughing.

This time it was enough. Even for Sam this was enough. Tears started burning his eyes as he shook Dean, anger bubbling in his voice,

_"Dean. Dean, stop it!"_

Dean didn't get what was serious any more, so he giggled,

_"Stop what?"_

The thought made Sam feel physically sick, he couldn't even say that he meant drinking without gagging.

_"Stop doing it."_

And Dean smirked. He smirked as he said,

_"Doing what?"_

Even if it was for a second, Dean came to his senses, he realized that Sam hadn't actually seen him consuming since he "quit". For a fraction of a second he realized that his brother cared about him, and even if Dean usually hated him, he couldn't in that moment.

The sirens were coming closer and Sam couldn't help but feel helpless as he stared at the burning cars. Sam began to get nervous as the sirens closed in on them, the fire-fighters started putting out the fire and the police arrived. There was a cold, metallic feeling touching Dean's fingers and he looked down to see that Sam, he was pushing a gun to his hand.

_"You want to kill me?"_ Despite not expecting it, Dean's voice was calm. He would have expected this from anyone else, but not Sam.

Sam was crying now, shaking as every word cut his throat, his eyes burning,

_"No, I don't want you to die. I don't. Look at you, consuming, fucked-up alcoholic! Why don't you just take the easy way out and just...do it."_

The railing rattled as Dean shoved Sam against it, the gun falling. Screaming. Crying. Almost suffocating.

_"Don't you dare to say that. Not you. If I've always took the easy way, I would have quit ages ago. So don't you dare say anything."_

When they collapsed to the ground, Dean finally stopped and embraced him, apologizing for everything he couldn't take back. They both sat like that for what seemed like hours.

Dean began to shake; not because of Sam's words, more because of the alcohol still in his system. Not because of his consuming sadness, more because of his physical weakness. Not because he cared, more because of the fact that he didn't.

Sam slumped back down to his knees again, his face level with Dean's. Face full of tears, he said under his breath,

_"You have to promise to get better."_

Dean couldn't tell where they were coming from, but there were sobs rattling in his chest.

And then there was an icy whisper and Dean didn't know if he was meant to hear it.

_"Because if you don't, I will die with you."_


End file.
